


Clear for Landing

by choklitcake



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Waxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choklitcake/pseuds/choklitcake
Summary: Sherlock does something and barely even tries to front that it's For Science.  Also John is kind of a dirty old man, but within reasonable boundaries.





	Clear for Landing

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a Brit, so if any of this sounds off, my apologies. My headcannon says this is post-S4 but there's no Rosie here because she's not important to the story. Mrs Hudson must be watching her. =)

"How do you feel about waxing?" Sherlock asked, completely apropos of nothing, one crisp morning in late Autumn.

The question startled John enough that he literally stopped mid-bite and pulled his teeth back out of his toast, leaving behind tiny buttery divots. Slowly he turned his head to face Sherlock.

"Sorry?"

"Waxing??" Sherlock said irascibly, throwing his hands up the way he did when John didn't follow him on something he thought should be obvious. "You know, manscaping? Brazillians, that sort of thing?"

John knew. At this point he had imagined Sherlock in pretty much every lewd fantastical scenario possible, some he would be willing to admit to and some he wouldn't. Sherlock was blessed with _beautiful_ creamy skin that lit to a rosy pink when he was aroused, dusted with a smattering of soft brown freckles and moles here-and-there. His pubic hair was reddish, thick and downy, admittedly a bit longer and wilder than John had expected but with clearly demarcated boundaries. Sherlock was the type of human who either had thick hair or no hair at all on any given part of his body, there wasn't much of an inbetween. 

John had had a minor girlfriend some years ago who took it all off, and that was pretty fantastic. He had also rogered a pretty young American doughboy some twenty years earlier who had naturally sparse haircover and was quite smooth. Had John laid in bed on mornings fucking his own fist to thoughts of a hairless ( _and possibly 20 year-old!_ a devious and hated part of himself piped in) Sherlock, warm and spread out and smooth? _Bien sur!_ But he wasn't about to _ask_ Sherlock to do that. John had never requested it of anyone. He knew as well as anyone else what a pain in the arse upkeep could be for that sort of thing, and he wasn't sure he'd be willing to do it for anyone himself, so he didn't figure it was fair of him to ask it of anyone else.

Besides, Sherlock was, to John's utter delight, quite deliciously fragrant, and John knew from experience that a large chunk of one's body odor was shaved off and washed down the drain along with the hair. Honestly he wasn't sure if he wanted to give that up just for some short-lived smoothness.

He did NOT, however, want to share any of these thoughts with Sherlock (not just yet, anyways). His eyes went all shifty as he tried to suss out exactly what his lover was getting at.

"First of all, never say the word 'manscaping' again. Second of all... why do you ask?"

"Does it matter?"

Well, yeah, John thought. It kind of did.

"I just... who are you asking for?" 

Sherlock stared back at him, fish-eyed. "Me. Waxing," he said shortly, after a fashion.

John's plate, which had been hovering near his mouth this whole time, slowly sank back down into his lap, punctured toast and all.

"I... I never thought about it before," John lied. "I guess. I mean." His eyes kept shifting, making Sherlock uncomfortable. He leaned over the arm of his chair. "Have you? Are you... Are you planning on..."

"Manscaping? Do you want me to?"

" _Jesus_ , Sherlock--"

"Oh what?!" Sherlock said peevishly, a lovely blush rising on his noble cheekbones. "Haven't you ever... you know..." He waived his hand, it must be admitted, a bit gaily.

"Me? No, I've never done that."

"No but I mean haven't you had... _partners_... who did?"

John looked down at his plate. He brushed crumbs off of himself. "I have. It was... fine," he admitted. "I mean, they enjoyed it too. That's what matters to me."

Sherlock's gaze lingered a moment longer before his attention snapped back to his laptop, fingers _tap-tapping_ feverishly over the keys. 

John watched him a beat longer before venturing, "Are you... are you planning on--"

"Of course not. It's for a case," Sherlock said quickly, effectively ending the conversation.

~~~

John didn't really think much more of it until later that week. The two of them were laying on their bed in Sherlock's room, making out quite merrily. Sherlock was luxuriating under the heft of John's weight, soaking up every touch like a spoiled young prince. Sherlock's throat vibrated under John's lips as he sighed into the touch. John worked his way back up to Sherlock's lovely mouth, kissing the other man deeply, completely, lingering as long as he dared. Sherlock's dress shirt was unbuttoned and John nibbled at sweet little chest hairs, sparse as they were. Sherlock fairly giggled as John worked his way down the taller man's body, dipping his tongue into the pucker of bellybutton before tonguing the heavy length of him through his trousers.

Deep, heavy breathing settled throughout the room like dew and Sherlock threw his head back, murmuring "Oh... _John..._ " as he gently but firmly held the back of John's head, inching his pelvis up to seek more contact.

"Shall I take you in my mouth? Would you like to come down my throat before I fuck you?" John asked deviously. He absolutely adored talking this way in the bedroom. It made Sherlock even pinker.

" _Yes_ ," Sherlock moaned.

"I'd love that," John said. John absolutely adored giving head. "I love sucking on you, making you squirm." He began to undo Sherlock's flies. "Although I do also like fucking you when you're hard, watching your bollocks bounce around as I--" 

He stopped abruptly, blinking. If his brain were a car, it would have audibly screeched to a halt.

There above Sherlock's erection was an approximately one by two inch rectangle of dark coppery hair, neatly clipped, staring back at him as though daring him to comment. The rest of Sherlock's groin was smooth and white. Even the wrinkled plum of his scrotum, usually sporting several very fine baby hairs, was shorn clean.

John must've been staring longer than he thought, because he heard Sherlock say, "Oh for God's sakes John, _it's a landing strip._ Although I do believe for men it's known as a 'pilot' for some reason."

The evening prior, they had gone out to dinner and John had the waiter box up a huge pink sugary cupcake to take home. To his great shame, he wolfed the entire thing down less than an hour before bed.

Put an end to that, he thought. Obviously it was causing hallucinations.

"I didn't... you..." John stammered, sitting back on his haunches.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked with a bit of uncertainty. The fact that he couldn't deduce the answer said volumes.

Honestly, John wasn't completely sure.

"Didn't it hurt?" he asked.

"Like hell. But not worse than some enhanced interrogation techniques I've been through," Sherlock said thoughtfully. He shrugged, then looked back up at John hopefully.

On one hand, John had loved Sherlock's body hair the way it was. It was soft and sexy and just long enough to tuft a bit without getting ridiculous. Body hair was _manly_ , and what was the point of being intimate with a man if you didn't love his masculinity?

But on the other hand...

There was something bawdy and salacious about the waxing, as though Sherlock was a lewd young slag prowling around looking for older men to fuck him, always smooth and prepared.

(John knew, of course, that removing body hair didn't necessarily make someone a slag, but Pretty Young Sherlock had always been his favorite fantasy.)

John half-smiled. "What made you decide to get that?"

Sherlock grinned wolfishly.

"How else do you suppose pretty posh boys groom themselves?"

Sherlock had deduced a while back that comments like that got John's blood pumping. John's cock throbbed hungrily in his trousers, pulsing outward as if to make good use of the landing strip.

He yanked Sherlock's trousers and pants off together in one fell swoop.

"I love it," he growled, tackling Sherlock, who yelped. John nuzzled against Sherlock's mouth, a bit dominant and forceful. "Did you decide to go and get yourself ready for me? Decided to go and get yourself fixed up like a proper whore?" he asked in between hot, forceful kisses.

"Yes," Sherlock gasped, bucking beneath him. "Yes, please John..." His heart jumped in his chest as John held him down and pressed him deeper into the mattress. This seemed to have brought out the beast in him, to Sherlock's dark delight.

"What about that sweet arsehole?" John asked lecherously. "You've done that too?"

"I did," Sherlock breathed, but it was unnecessary as John's hand had slid below to feel around for itself. Sherlock spread his legs for better access.

"Oh, look at you," John chided mockingly. "Can't wait to get me in, can you?" He circled Sherlock's hole with feather-light touches. "I'm going to have fun fucking you, with how smooth your sweet little arse is. Less friction, I'm going to be able to fuck you even harder. You're going to _love_ it."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Sherlock whimpered, until his mouth was occupied by John's tongue. He let himself be overtaken, dominated. Sherlock loved this, the ability to let go, to whimper and beg and say utterly ridiculous things that in any other context would bet utterly mortifying. They gave that ability to each other, in this intimate space. It was trust; it was love unlike anything else Sherlock had ever experienced in his lifetime, more than he had ever dared to hope for. It might've brought tears to his eyes if the man he loved wasn't currently fiddling between his legs and telling him in great detail what was about to be done to him. 

When they broke apart, Sherlock gasped, "Oh John, fuck me!" 

John was already halfway back down his torso. "Hang on. You sure look different down here, I want to see if you taste different too." Gently, gingerly, he picked up Sherlock's heavy, flushed cock and gently sucked with a loose mouth. In spite of his penchant for danger and excitement, Sherlock had proven to be surprisingly sensitive in bed. After so many years of being without a partner, it had taken him a bit of time to become accustomed to someone's mouth on him in that way. A couple of weeks had gone by before he felt completely secure and was able to come from John's mouth alone (a finger up the arse never hurt anything, either).

Sherlock squirmed and shifted his hips a bit, closing his eyes and letting his mouth hang open. The room became quiet, punctuated only by deliciously wet, obscene sounds of John's sucking. John rubbed Sherlock's bollocks gently, the sparse furriness he was used to stripped away. It was a new feeling, not unpleasant. John, wondering if the taste was any different, pulled off of Sherlock's cock with a soft _pop_ and sucked one tender testicle into his mouth, then the other. Sherlock's breath picked up and his cock gave a hungry little bounce as he pulled his knees up silently. John looked up the bed to make eye contact with him, but the brunet had his face and eyes scrunched up tight, even as he rolled back to expose his rear.

John was now face-to-face (or face-to-arse, as it were) with a naked, twitching arsehole.

Sherlock's arse was not a hairy one to begin with, as arses go. Hell, John's own arse had more hair on it, and he didn't particularly have a hairy arse either. Still, John winced a bit at the thought of someone coating it with wax before ripping it off. Perhaps Sherlock was less sensitive than John had thought.

In any event, the usual reddish kinks of hair were gone. John grabbed a pillow to give Sherlock more support, then leaned in and began lapping firmly at the small dark furrow of Sherlock's arsehole. Supporting Sherlock's calf with one hand, he felt gooseflesh rise under his fingers as he rolled his tongue forcefully against the most personal place of his lover's body.

Sherlock moaned softly and reached down to pull a bit at his own cock. John felt Sherlock's arsehole contract around his tongue as he neared orgasm. John put two lips to the flesh and sucked, causing the hole to contract more.

"Oh John," Sherlock bit off desperately. "Oh _John..._ "

John released Sherlock's calf and reached down into his own pants to pull at his own deprived cock; God, he was so ready come...

He pulled away from Sherlock's arse, but not before slapping one cheek. Before Sherlock could get peevish, though, he had his mouth back on the brunet's engorged penis, sucking more forcefully than before. Sherlock relaxed again and threaded long fingers through silvery-blond hair.

John absolutely loved sucking Sherlock off. Apart from the minor jaw ache, he could've done it all day. He liked to challenge himself to take as much of Sherlock as he could. The semen wasn't particularly a treat, but he did love the feel of an engorged cock pulsating in his mouth, the slag he was. For some reason, Sherlock liked to let John kiss him right afterwards so he could taste himself; John found that stupidly arousing as well.

But more than that, John loved fucking Sherlock while Sherlock was still hard. There was something absurdly sexy about Sherlock's erection swinging about as he took John up his backside. But more than that, the feeling of Sherlock's orgasm from the inside was _incredible_. The first time John had experienced that, Sherlock's tight arse spasming around John's sizeable cock... John came so hard he actually drooled on Sherlock's back, much to his humiliation. It was that good. Luckily for him, Sherlock wasn't much of a person to be bothered by bodily fluids in general.

Right, he thought. Time for lube, then.

John shed himself of the rest of his clothes and yanked off Sherlock's socks. Sherlock quickly threw off his unbuttoned shirt. The lack of hair made working Sherlock open a bit easier, somehow. Getting Sherlock to relax during this part was also becoming less of a challenge, as time went on. John was an incredibly patient man, and he wasn't interested in doing anything that Sherlock didn't want to do, but he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that Sherlock's increasing ability to take things quicker pleased him. Sherlock was so nervous when they first began this that they had had to start with the smallest of anal toys and work their way up over a series of months. The fact that Sherlock now not only tolerated John's cock, but actually _enjoyed_ it, well. John must've done something right in a past life, he just didn't know what.

None of that mattered, though, as Sherlock's arse squeezed thought from John's mind like toothpaste from the tube as he slid in.

And that was the other side of it: Sherlock could now enjoy John's cock, and John could now last longer than thirty seconds. John had had a few sessions of anonymous anal sex before meeting Sherlock, but by and large his penetrative sexual encounters involved women, whose orifices were lovely, to be sure, but not anywhere near as tight as Sherlock's pert arse. At first he didn't mind coming so early, as Sherlock wasn't able to tolerate much action for long anyway. But eventually as time went on and Sherlock began to really enjoy being fucked, John knew he would have to increase his stamina if he didn't want to feel an inadequate lover. It was still touch-and-go, but he was getting there.

Today not might be one of those days, he thought, growling ferally with pleasure. Squelching noises filled the room as he slid in and out.

" _Oh John,_ " Sherlock murmured, quivering. " _More_." He was on all fours, his head bent over, his face obscured by curly dark hair that was overdue for a cut.  
John shifted onto one knee, bracing himself with one foot on the mattress before pulling Sherlock's body back to him with a grunt.

"Oh Sherlock.. I have to.." he panted, beginning to thrust in earnest. "I have to fuck you, I'm going to come soon..."

"Yes... I need you to..." Sherlock stammered, before chanting _Yes, yes, yes_ with every thrust forward. His cock bounced against his belly. 

"Your cock," John said labouriously, hand ghosting over Sherlock's smooth nether regions. He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin between Sherlock's shoulders (another con to being relatively short: not being able to reach your lover's neck from behind). John couldn't lie, the shorn skin sheathing his cock made the glide that much more delicious, smoothness yielding as his cock pushed in and out. He cupped Sherlock's clean bollocks before rubbing Sherlock's cock just the way he liked.

He was really pounding into Sherlock now. Skin slapped against skin, the bed shook with the force. John was high on endorphins.

"Yeah, you go and get yourself waxed like the little tart you are," he groaned evilly. "Gone and gotten it all taken off just to make it easier for me to fuck you." He knew bloody well he might regret saying all of this out loud, but at the moment his blood was echoing in his ears and his legs were wobbling as he pushed his aching erection inside of his lover and he _did not care_ about the consequences of a little dirty talk.

But he need not have worried anyways, because Sherlock, caught between John's prick in the back and John's hand in the front, was babbling with pleasure himself. The lovely intrusion of John's cock, being bent over and forced to submit, it was too much. He felt his groin become heavy; orgasm was iminent. He bore down involuntarily, contracting around the thick shaft in his arse.

The rhythmic tensing of orgasm in Sherlock's pelvis tugged on John and he gave in, feeling his own orgasm pulse even as he felt Sherlock's cock in his hand twitch at the same time. John moaned in lusty satisfaction with each shot of semen, but Sherlock, as per usual, was quite silent, having buried his red face in a pillow.

Presently there was nothing left save quivering, overworked muscles and the heavy breathing of two men madly in love. John gently pulled out and the two of them collapsed next to each other, panting.

They layed there for a while, spooned against each other, Sherlock feeling John's galloping heart come to a canter against his back as their breathing slowed. After a minute or two, John began to mouth gently at Sherlock's shoulder, and said, "Shit. I'm knackered."

Sherlock asked, "So you like it then?"

John chuckled a bit. "What, the waxing? Somewhat," he admitted. "Although I like your pubic hair just fine. It was fun as a special treat, but if you grow it out again I won't complain. I bet it will itch as it grows out. I'm not sure on that, though. As I said before, I've never done it myself."

"Would you consider it?" Sherlock asked.

John considered for a moment. "I... probably not," he admitted.

Now Sherlock chuckled. "'S fine. Besides, I love your pubic hair too. Thick and golden." He ventured a hand behind himself to run his fingers through damp wiry curls. John wasn't a particularly hairy man either, but unlike Sherlock, his pubic hair was quite wiry and covered a wider range. John very carefully trimmed himself with scissors, but seeing as he was considerably hairier, he knew waxing would be quite painful.

"Good," he said, kissing Sherlock's temple. "I've never really fancied smooth bollocks for myself."

"Your pubic hair coverage is absolutely perfect," Sherlock said decidedly. "It's everywhere but the shaft. It's manly. I love it." He shifted, turning to face John. "Besides, they've already got your pubic hair pattern on the menu. Some people pay to get the shape you have. Know what they call it?" 

"No, what?"

"'The soldier.'"

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. 'The Soldier' is really a thing. I didn't plan it that way, it just worked out.


End file.
